Broken Us in the Place of Dragons
by Sugar-Spoon-Moon
Summary: Hawke and Anders have fled Kirkwall, but have been apprehended by a group of Templars in their escape. Fortunately, they are aided by a King of Ferelden and the Warden-Commander. My take on how Hawke and Amell disappear. F/Hawke/Anders Amell/Alistair


**Title:** Broken Us In The Place Of Dragons

**Author:** Raccoon Sugar Spoon

**Summary: **Hawke and Anders are saved from a group of Templars in their escape from Kirkwall. By none other than the King of Ferelden and a certain mage. Amell asks Hawke for her assistance.

**Pairing: **Hawke/Anders Amell/Alistair

**A little muse thats been in my head, I've always wanted Amell and Hawke to meet. :) My mage Nanon Amell and mage Laleep Hawke. (Ridiculous names, I know. But hey. If it isn't ridiculous it isn't worth mentioning. My logic is broken, and defunct.) And also my way of Amell and Hawke disappearing together to save the world! YEAH.**

* * *

The Templar hit the tree with such force his skull shattered inside his head. Pieces of bone being shattered from the inside as his blood boiled inside his veins. The liquid cherry red flooding his system was reaching temperatures that far exceeded the blood of boiling point. It frothed in his aorta, fried his veins and made his liver steam.

Hawke lowered her hands as she worked her blood magic through her palms. Feeling her own blood sing a sour lullaby. The way her wrist bled and seeped all the raw, brutal power was unlike any magic she had known. From an early age, due to an early warning by her father blood magic was out of the question to combat the likes of men with.

Templars, to be exact.

Magic alone was a deviant thing. Aiding it along as a truly hellish, demonic power was the use of its more visceral cousin. Blood magic.

Never was there more influence in temptation than being told not to do something. Laleep Hawke was a curious girl by nature. Bright and utterly without allegiances to any form of community. She was the tension breaker in the family. Carver was a whiner and Bethany was a worrier. Hawke, Hawke was the sort of person to look at a disaster, a true catastrophe and shrug and deem it better than nothing at all, or a simple bout of bad luck. And off she would flutter into the mud as if death was just a clumsy thing to happen. Show her a charred corpse and she'd say barbeque.

Hawke looked to her right side, Anders stood close by. He grabbed her bloody wrist and his brow crinkled in the middle. Sorely struck with volatile frustration and anger the older mage was not a happy chappy, Hawke decided. And rightly so.

Anders was well aware she utilized the darker shade of magic some time during his initial meeting with her. Hemorrhaging a group of bandits wasn't easy to hide from him. He was furious and quite ready to leave her side. Whether it was her persuasion of adorable faces and frowns, or the way she utilized humor in such a coquettish way, Anders could not decide. He stayed, much to his better judgment and the corrupted spirit raging inside his flaying soul.

Hawke had an amazing ability to falsify her abilities. To make it seem like she was so much more the damsel in distress than she really was. Due also to this, Anders instinct to protect her, believing her incapable of looking after herself, he stayed by her side religiously. Like some mad militant.

And somehow he fell into her bedside as well.

Some clumsy act of Hawke's attempts at seduction chipped away at his common sense. Even Justice seemed somewhat beguiled by the much younger mages childish attempts at courtship. Really, she was far too blatant in her admittance of attraction to him.

"_Well, at least he can't complain about his looks."_

"_Your attractive."_

"_Hi sexy guy."_

"_YOUR HOT."_

"_WHEN I SEE YOU. MY STOMACH TURNS TO MUSH."_

"_I THINK ABOUT YOU DIRTILY- is that a word?"_

It wasn't exactly subtle.

He was 38, dying quickly and she was 23 and dying very slowly.

And even though Anders warned her, warned _her_. The blood mage of _him_. The not so much a blood mage, of the dangers of being with him. She just looked at him and said.

"_I cut myself to enhance my magic. I'm kind of confused over who should be scared of whom." _It was another fine example of the adorable little devil.

She had sent his friends to the gallows, killed some, and imprisoned some. Left others to the Templars wicked devices. She was his enemy, everything he had come to hate, everything Justice had rotted for so Anders could twist the spirit inside him and use it for his designed revenge.

And yet here they both were.

Standing side by side, Anders clutching his loves swan like bleeding wrist, and Hawke attempting to pry it free from his grasp as they stood down an entire band of Templars that they had 'found' due to Hawke's amazing ability to find…stuff. Just not stuff you would want found. For the sake of your health and wellbeing.

There were 12 of them altogether. Hawke had immediately blown one of their eyes out of their heads due to being surprised. So it used to be 13.

Anders whipped Hawke around in his arms as one of the Templars sent a shot of lyrium infused magic at them. Anders put up a barrier to protect her. Hawke lay huddled against Anders chest, his chin resting on the top of her head.

"I told you, no." He sternly said.

"Anders don't you dare tell me how to use my magic." Hawke shot back, as Anders felt her blood dripping from her body and onto him.

The Templars threw another holy smite towards them. Anders barrier was holding, but barely. Anders whipped his head around and noticed a couple of them readying for cleanse. The situation was getting dire.

"Hawke." Anders hissed as he attempted to fortify the barrier with more mana, utilizing Vengeance. The spirit Hawke's opposition and passion had rotted. Blue veins and cracks began to swamp the mage's body, bleeding the fade through him like a wound. There was no more Justice; Anders had completely infused the spirit into him. Anders was now, completely Vengeance. "I don't want to see that magic-" His eyes flashed with a bright light.

"Why not?" Hawke grumbled, she managed to get her staff, Freedoms Promise, the twisted; odd, peculiar staff she had found was an oddity. What looked like two small wolves, or puppy's tied to the staff made for its odd adorable factor. So Hawke had said. Hawke stabbed her staff into the ground and sent a wave of magic through the ground. The Templars were knocked back a few yards and Hawke grabbed Anders arm and ran forward behind a fallen brick wall.

Anders looked over the wall and saw the Templars attempting to soothe themselves of their confusion and stagger. The older mage looked down at his younger counterpart who was smiling somewhat stupidly. He furrowed his brow and quickly grabbed her bleeding wrist again, digging into her pack and wrapping the cut flesh with a bandage. He gripped it harder than he would have liked to think himself capable of.

"Don't you dare do that again, Hawke." He demanded, looking into her vividly green eyes. They were almost ethereal, utterly unreal and somewhat poisonous.

Hawke merely looked back at him and rolled her eyes. She put her arms around his neck and clung to him.

"I don't know whether to call you a hypocrite. You're the one who turned a spirit into a demon-"

"I did not do anything of the sort Hawke! You know that-"

"No. You did, Anders. You just can't admit to yourself that's exactly what you've done to Justice. Invite an ideal into a man full of them and he's bound to get misshapen by the disorder of principles." She stated, checking on the Templars progress of recuperation. Which was happening very fast.

Anders growled at the young woman, this woman he so dearly loved, the woman he had ached for in such a disquieting way. She haunted him so badly and she did such an appalling job trying to achieve the attraction. Perhaps, in a way she had no idea what she was actually doing.

Anders looked at her and couldn't bare the fact this woman had no allegiance. She was like incorrigible Isabella; the idea of mage, templar and man seemed utterly unreliable and useless terminology. Everyone had a torso, which was enough for her. And she sent and equal amount of mages to their death as she did Templars. She was something of a disturbing enigma.

Anders grabbed Hawke's face in his hands and ferociously looked at the stubborn witch. "Hawke, I swear to the Maker your lips better stop moving or I may have to force them."

Hawke's eyes twinkled something mischievous and she acted the doe. "Oh? The naughty apostate is going to make me do something I don't want to?"

"This naughty apostate is trying to get us out of here. Limbs and torso together, preferably." Anders stated, breathing on her lips. The urge to kiss those pale cherry coloured lips was a torturous craving. All those years aching for her every night and here was the cure. But the more he got, the more ill he seemed to get and the more he wanted.

She was his unquenchable thirsting.

Hawke nodded and licked the bottom of his lip. Vengeance raged inside him. This demon was not without its needs as well, its own personal demons. Desire being one of them. It wanted Hawke as much as Anders did. And it could never get quite enough to fulfill its appetite. She was as much a spiritual meal as a person.

Anders leaned into Hawke's face and whispered a deadly sort of comment.

"Once we escape these Templars, Maker forbid me I'm going to have my wicked way with you, Hawke. In every manner a man, mage or spirit can have you." Anders, his face serious and his grip hard, was every bit angry as he was inflamed with her lovely toxin that was her coquette, naive charm. Kittenish in every way. "Maker, you'll be the damned death of me, little girl." Anders voice stirred between Vengeance and Anders Hawke cocked her head and smiled cutely. Anders slammed his staff onto the ground, blue veins bursting from his body inflamed as Vengeance offered a lethal power. But immediately Anders fell to the ground before Vengeance could fuel him entirely. Hawke put a hand on his back.

"Uh. Okay. Well. I guess I don't have to worry about being the death of you if you're going to go off and do that." She stated, eyebrows furrowing. "What happened?"

Anders let his head fall and he took a deep breath, his arms shaking as he clutched Malcolm's Honor, a staff Hawke had gifted him with.

"_Whose the woman on top?" he asked when she had given it to him._

"_Probably mother."_

"…_So… I have a carving of your mother in nude repose on my staff, is that right?"_

"_Yes." She said matter of fact._

"…_And you don't see anything wrong with this?" Anders could not keep a straight face._

"_I suppose you could paint the hair white and pretend its me?" She said plainly._

_Anders soon popped off to crush some white pigment._

"My mana…" The older mage said. "It's not entirely gone, but it's not all there either." He put a hand around her neck and stroked it as a source of comfort.

"What about the famed Grey Warden stamina? What happened to that?" Laleep asked, confused.

Anders laughed deeply. "There's quite a difference between the battleground in your bedroom and the one here." He stated. Laleep blushed somewhat.

"No there isn't. You stab someone and they see their life flash before them. It's the same."

"Oh maker…" Anders breathed. The girl was utterly shameless. Seeing no difference in the etiquette of the bedroom and the conduct of a battlefield fought with arrows and knives, not…okay. So maybe the conduct wasn't all that different.

Hawke looked over the fence to their Templars and barely missed an arrow.

"Well. We're quite screwed at the moment." Hawke rubbed her brow and tried to think as Anders attempted to find his groundings, as exhausted as his mana was.

"Any suggestions?"

"I don't know. A Dragon swooped down to save us from the Darkspawn. Maybe we'll be given the same mercy by the lords above." Hawke joked.

"I don't think-"

There was a grand roar that shook them out of their fear.

"You have got to be kidding me…" Anders eyes widened as the sight of a single leathery skinned wing flew overhead. "It's not even…It's not possible…" He breathed as he instinctively grabbed Hawke, the surprised younger mage encircled by his arms as he fearlessly stood his ground. Hawke's cheek was ruffled with his black, feather pauldrons. She clutched at his chest as she looked upward, her green eyes wide and unafraid. She witnessed a long, elegant tail spined with bone spikes as it trailed across the sky above them. She could tell it was immense, but probably not as large as a high dragon. Not as large as Flemeth in her draconic form.

Hawke peeked over the wall and the Templars were having a right old scuttle to safety. They were totally enraptured in the fear and the fright that the Dragons presence made; they looked up as the large, sickly coloured red dragon let its claws touch ground. The grand glory of this dragon could not be matched by any living creature.

A spine decorated with bone growths growing viciously and awkwardly out its back. Two large horns, like those the Arishok had sported crowning its head like an otherworldly like circlet. Sprouting out and curling somewhat in the middle, the points decorated with shades of black.

The Dragon was large, but not outranking a High Dragon. But still larger than the normal dragons you would find in the wilds. The Templars looked at it, in its awe inspiring, utterly devastating grandeur. A feat of nature composed this monster with all the laurels of the magnificent and the terrible. Nothing quite came close to the horror of a dragon's ire, nor its interest in you.

Flemeth was the last Dragon who hadn't tried to eat her, Hawke thought. And even then it was because she was not entirely a dragon herself…assuming.

The Dragon watched the Templars, circling them as they shook and quaked in the presence of this…otherworldly predator. It's great ribs bellowed, its chest expanding as surely the air circulated its fire glands, preparing for the brightest death possible for these men. Into the eyes of the maker, they would be blinded by his light…

The Dragon's hind legs muscles stretched, and convulsed against the scaled skin. It's great front arms clawed at the earth, feeling the shift and pull of the magic underneath the hellish mausoleum of the belly of the earth. Pure evidence of its physical mass. The Dragon snarled baring its teeth, and the Templars immediately dropped their weapons, taking to their knees and praying for the Maker as the beast watched them with no fancy to their prayers.

The Dragon stood on its hind legs as an armored figure appeared out of the forest. The most glorious of golden armor cloaked him in impenetrable exquisiteness. The sun hitting his unsheathed sword with a holy glare.

There was a dragons face gilded on the chest piece and large shoulder guards mounted over it. His face was obscured by a knight's helm. Blue horsehair sprouting from the top in a truly luxurious display of command.

The knight walked calmly pass the Dragon's wriggling tail, letting a hand stroke down its shoulder briefly, the Dragon allowing the man safe passage but maintaining an intent stare at the group of holy men.

The knight walked up to the group of prostrated men, bent down on one knee and said simply.

"This is the moment you run away. Scared. In horror. Cause your utterly petrified. Look." The knight pointed out. " A giant, meat eating beast. Argh. Grrr."

The Templars looked at the faceless knight, and then to each other, then to the Dragon who let a drizzle of smoke dribble out of its nose like a charred perfume along with a lift of it's lip to show a show of grave teeth.

They then gathered their weapons, and fled with no capacity of grace or posture.

Hawke and Anders watched warily from behind the wall, Anders tried to pull Hawke down from view but she was adamant to watch.

"Hawke!" The older mage hissed. "Do you want to get us killed?"

"No!" She turned down to him. "That's why I'm up here. Watching. What if they crawl up behind us-"

"Hi." A voice said. Hawke looked up and sure enough, the knight's face made an appearance. "What are you doing down there, silly people!" The knight seemed amused, less than vicious.

Anders got to his feet and quickly threw his staff at the nameless knight, threatening him.

"Who are you." Anders warned.

Hawke smacked her forehead hard; the man was beyond any common sense, but really. He invited a spirit to live in his head, anything else he did pretty much could be deemed normal. Like threatening a fully armored knight with a giant fire-breathing dragon with a stick. That has a carved effigy of her naked mother. Or herself, as it was with the white paint covering the gold hair. This was Anders version of common sense. It was common for him, yes, but for anyone else it was mental illness.

The Dragon made its way towards Anders and Hawke and their suspicious guest. It's great, horned head moving towards Anders, the mage steeped back, attempting to feign confidence and a fearless stance. But inside, Anders was not without his lucid apprehension. The Dragon moved towards the mage, and Hawke gripped her staff tightly. Readying herself for any damage towards her crazy, fanatical mage.

The Dragon breathed out a circle of smoke around Ander's head. And it looked like it was smiling.

With a flash, the Dragon's entire bulky mass glowed and withered down. Hawke was reminded of Flemeths shape shifting talent, the golden glow and the wispy lights surrounding the dragon. And suddenly, all there was left was a glowing, female body.

She opened her eyes and looked at them with dangerously familiar green eyes, and a light white shade to her hair. And those toxic, light cherry lips.

Ander's eyes widened as he looked upon a familiar face.

"Warden Commander…" He breathed, his lips quickly turning to a surprised grin.

Hawke herself was shaken with absolute surprise, the woman looked…well. Like family. Their eyes were the same, their hair, and their faces. There was something like kin in that face.

"The…the Warden Commander?" She turned to Anders and he nodded.

"And her faithful sidekick-" The knight took his helmet off and the view was more familiarity.

Golden short hair, amber eyes and that strong jaw said it all. "-King Alistair." he said, somewhat…sternly. He turned to his Warden partner as she mad her way to his side. Wide-eyed, and seemingly fantastical in her veil of innocence. The way she held her staff, the way her eyes seemed to widen with every step toward the couple she had saved. It all screamed something demure, inoculants.

"King Alistair?" Anders said with perplexing astonishment.

Hawke stared at her, as the Warden did.

"You're my-"

"-Cousin." The Warden finished.

The two Amell's stared at each other with wonder.

"Well." Anders coughed. "This is awkward."

By the time everyone had come to their senses, Anders managed to collect himself enough to stop threatening Alistair with his staff. And Hawke and Nanon had both overcome the surprise of meeting one of the family. And when one of the family was the illustrious Hero of Ferelden, it put a lot more weight in the entire process. Nanon was not exactly what Hawke was expecting. No lightning bolts shooting from her pores, and she wasn't made out of gold like they said in the Hanged Man. she was truly, so utterly human. She was small, and…well. She was Hawke through and through. White hair bundled into two ponytails and those wet, alarmingly green eyes. The Dragon shape shifting was a wonder unto itself. At least there was some symptom of fancy that did not elude the Hanged man's drunken fairytales.

Anders immediately stepped in. "Commander, I didn't think you could-"

"Shape shift?" she finished.

"Into a dragon, no less." Anders added, puzzled.

Nanon smiled and brushed a strand of white hair behind her ear. "I practiced."

"How…?" Anders looked to Alistair for some sort of answer.

Alistair shrugged. "She practiced." He said.

"How do you practice being a dragon?" Hawke asked.

"You flap your arms till you don't fall off the cliff." Nanon, the Warden-Commander stated quite plainly.

"Really? It's that easy?"

Nanon coughed. "Well, I mean. There is the addition of hunting down Dragons and watching them…do stuff, I suppose. The Arch Demon took long enough to kill, so I studied."

"Do stuff?" Hawke crinkled her nose.

"Well. Yeah. As much as Shape shifting is magical metamorphosis, it too is simple research of the architecture of the body." Nanon said walking towards the lake and bending over to splash water on her face. "You can't build a false body for yourself if you don't know why the leg moves this way and how the muscle interacts with the veins. It isn't just an illusion, or a costume. Its raw meat and bone extended, doubled and bent."

"Oh man, ever since Flemeth I've-"

"Flemeth?" Nanon stopped Hawke from finishing, Nanon immediately showing a worried interest.

"Yes…The Witch of the Wilds…She…well. Saved me. When we were fleeing the Darkspawn. Helped us to Kirkwall."

"Oh…"

"You know her?" Anders asked.

Nanon looked to Alistair and the King exchanged the worries glance.

"She too, saved us."

"Coincidence?" Alistair asked.

"Never." Nanon said, walking towards the lake that lined the large clearing. She bent down, washed her hands and the King followed her, like her constant shadow. "Flemeth is a tricky one…neither hostile nor exclusively an ally." Alistair looked to Anders and Hawke. Nanon turned her head to look at Anders. "And with the way the world is currently, It's hard to say how much of her influence might exist here…saving you, saving us…"

"Speaking of renegade mages," Alistair began. Staring at Anders. "A little birdy told me a certain someone stimulated a mage insurgence all around the Free Marches and Thedas." Alistair said to Anders, sternly. The least like the clown people had observed him to be and more the hoarse King sitting atop a country. Alistair had thickened his brain, his soul seemed hardened, his personality not as malleable as it used to be. Ruling had obviously nurtured a king out of the Templar boy. A Blight and a lover flourishing a hard-edged man. No longer the awkward virgin warrior, but a man. A radically proficient man.

Anders walked forward before Hawke could stop him. "I set the mages free, and if this is the consequence of freedom so be it." He stated slamming his staff on the ground.

Alistair pressed on, growling deeply in his chest. "Maybe I should have let the Templars have your head."

Anders pressed forward. "Funny, coming form a Templar. Ex-Templar, if I remember the rumors correctly." The mage said smirking. Alistair bared his teeth, growling deep in his chest as his Templar training induced the effects of an oncoming holy smite.

"Why don't you try, Templar. Go ahead. Heres my head, off with it, your majesty." Anders teased. "Cut the snakes head off to conquer the venom. It's the only way."

Alistair took a step back and watched Anders bow and present the nape of his neck to the King of Ferelden. Anders gripped Cailan's sword in his armored clutch, letting his muscles taught and his veins pump adrenalin throughout his head.

"Alistair…" Nanon stepped in front of the King and placed her hands on his armor plate. He looked down into those large green eyes. A vividness of unfaultable simplicity, a purity of sorts. Inside a corrupted body.

Both Nanon and Hawke quickly pressed themselves between the warring men.

"Anders, this isn't helping anyone." Hawke threw herself in front of Anders, pressing her palms against his chest.

"She's right, Alistair." Nanon sternly stood her ground between the Alistair and Anders.

Alistair pointed a gilded finger to Anders. "You have fortunate company and friends, Anders." He spat the name like some lethal venom. "Don't think I wont hesitate the next time I meet you."

"Likewise."

"As much as watching my love run around headless would make me laugh, how about we not? Yes?" Hawke offered with a smile.

"Have to admit, it would be funny." Alistair said.

"Well! Now we've finished threatening each other, what about civilized conversation?" Hawke happily said.

" Speaking of conversation…Hawke…can I…um…can I talk to you alone." Nanon asked.

* * *

Hawke and Amell walked away from the clearing, leaving a warring couple of brooding men in their wake. Amell clutched her staff tightly, drumming her fingers against it. Hawke followed, not entirely aware of Nanon's intended destination. The two women brushed aside overgrowth and trampled over partially rotting sunflowers and the like. Petals sticking to their heels and pollen dusted over their shoes. Finally Nanon stopped, looked around and stopped. She raised her hand, producing a small flame in her hand, the red wisp danced atop her palm and licked at her pale skin. Nanon threw her palm forward and the flames clutched to the overgrowth and savagely twisted the vegetation, the flowers and the leaves to a mangled, burnt corpse of a thing.

Nanon turned around and smiled gawkily. "Patience? Who has the time?"

"My thoughts exactly." Hawke grinned. It was nice to have a family member that wasn't. Dead, to put it delicately. And she had always had qualms with her family. Her mother blamed her for the insurgence of bad luck, Bethany's death to be one of the very greatest accusations of guilt. And then she took Carver down to the deep roads…and he died of poisoned blood. And to put it further into the depths of a tragic poem, her mother died of a twisted sort of spell of a revived, dead romance. Like her mother had said before her,

She was alone.

But there was Anders, and now she had a cousin. Who was none other than the Hero of Ferelden, and herself a Champion (Or Ex, depending on how you looked at her situation now. No better than her fathers.) It seemed a genetic thing, to achieve immortality via killing a lot of things and doing heaps of deeds for people stupid enough to get into trouble and far too lazy to deal with their issues.

Nanon looked around the small flower clearing. It was pretty, simple and charming. Nanon then turned to Hawke.

"Why are we here?" Hawke asked.

"Well, for one. They're not here." Nanon said. "What, with their peacock-ing around."

"They aren't exactly subtle."

"Subtle? With armor like Alistair's? No such thing. Absurd! If there's one thing, Cailan liked to do, it was stick out like a sore thumb. Again, peacock-ing around."

"Yes…possessed blue eyes don't make it easy for Anders to run around un-magey-like."

"I was told he was possessed…by Justice, correct?" Nanon asked, curiously.

"Well, he was Justice-"

"Was?"

"Seems to me Anders…twisted Justice into something perverted. Think of it like…like a cocoon. Justice went to sleep inside Anders, and underwent metamorphosis into…Vengeance. Not a beautiful butterfly."

"Interesting…" Nanon mused.

Hawke watched the smaller mage muse, and took a leap of faith. "Anders tells me that you knew Justice before he merged with Anders?"

"Yes. I did, he was so…so dedicated to his cause you'd never believe he could be anything else." Nanon laughed sadly. "It was always…justice this, prevail over the injustices of everything. Its like he had no mind for anything else. To be so single-minded seems a sort of prison." Nanon laughed and rubbed her brow. "It's wrong of me to say but…I'm glad Justice has a new view of the world. A new appreciation for something other than retribution."

Hawke watched the mage chuckle into her hand, as if it were a sort of shame that she were whispering into her palm.

"You think its right?" Hawke asked, a little taken back.

"I'm going to admit to you now Hawke, I've dealt with demons. I've aided them, helped them. Hell, I suspect the Arl of Redcliffe's son has probably flown the coop due to some devilish design. To be honest, I don't think there is a category. Each and every one of us is as demonic, as unworldly and as human as the next. I just think Demons are probably more honest about it."

Hawke grinned gawkily and felt she had found a sister. "I'll admit…Vengeance isn't…an unarguably eye-catching rendering of Anders."

Nanon looked up at her cousin, surprised.

"Really?"

"What? You think it's entirely a two way sort of…affair?"

Nanon's mouth opened wide and her eyes glittered as she put a hand to her mouth. "Really?" She asked, wrinkling her nose.

Hawke blushed somewhat and swept back strands of hair behind her ear. "I don't know if Anders realizes it, but there are…flickers of his alter ego…" she admitted.

"You don't feel it as an intrusion?"

Hawke lifted her head and breathed slowly. Blinking, and staring at the expanse of empty blue above her head. "Frankly, no. Anders is Vengeance, and Vengeance is not so different from the Anders I know." Hawke turned to Nanon and smiled. "Like you said," She shrugged. "Demonic, unearthly and downright human. But what about you?"

Nanon looked at her honest cousin, cocking her head in uncertainty.

"Alistair, the King of Ferelden no doubt. A mage and a king, a scandal surely!" Hawke teased. Nanon didn't seem fazed, she brought her hands together and picked at her nails with a means to ease the strain. A wind picked up, the thin strands of her tied up by white ribbon fluttered over her hair, trickling down the swan boned neck. She toyed with the strands, stroking them, and twirling them around her finger.

"Its…well. Alistair makes no habit of hiding it, none of these kisses in the dark or candlelit clandestine liaisons. It's all very in your face, really. I suppose telling him to not bother about what other people expected of him, or thought had a hand in his bolshie, brazen attitude."

Hawke stared at her cousin. Admittedly Hawke was quite taken aback by the seemingly shy and awkward Warden-Commander. Such an attitude, such an overt dedication to rebellion, with a King no less! Amell, apparently, had made the King. That, or it was always inside him, it just surfaced, inspired by the Commander's brazen lack of responsibility.

Nanon walked towards Hawke, and puffed her chest out, as if readying for some sort of grand admittance. "Hawke, I need you to leave with me."

Hawke looked at the Warden with inquisitiveness, furrowing her brows and watching the familiar face. So utterly like her own. "Okay, where?" she asked.

Nanon took another deep breath. "Somewhere Anders can't go." She took a pause, and continued. "Somewhere nobody else can go." Hawke was suddenly struck by a mixture of regret, hearing this, the need to run like she and Anders had been doing. Running from the danger, from the disaster and always facing forward. Hawke had had enough with the political bullshit, she had had enough of the egos colliding and falling on top of each other like the birth of a ruin. Hawke didn't know if she wanted whatever Nanon was suggesting. For months, it had been wherever Hawke went, Anders was sure to follow. Like a loyal wolf in sheep's clothing. Anders was the danger in romance.

"I don't know if I like this…" Hawke laughed, jokes easing whatever trepidation lay in Hawke's wake. "What about Alistair?"

Nanon's face turned pleading. It wasn't something you saw, the Warden- Commander begging. She slowly lowered her head and put Hawke's hands into her own. "Where we're going, no King can go. Besides, he is exactly that. A King of men. And me? Simply his mage mistress, nothing more. There isn't anything he can acquire from me anymore." Hawke watched the white haired mage look up at her. There was a pain. A certain distress Hawke knew nothing about.

Anders. Hawke thought. Anders. he was going to hate her, he was going to curse her. he was going to kill her. but somehow, Hawke felt this mattered. Whatever Nanon had in mind, it mattered enough for the small mage to leave a King. Enough running, Hawke had had enough. Anders needed this, Hawke needed this. Anders needed to suffer in order to continue. Anders could do nothing else to improve himself.

"All right." Hawke nodded, giving Nanon her gawkly smile.

"It's weird to know I have family," Nanon turned around as they began their wayward path, looking into the horizon of whatever decimation they were about to encourage. Whatever secrets they were about to stimulate. The two Amell's began to walk.

The opposite way from there possessed mage and their King.

"I can tell you about them, if you want."

"I'd like that."

* * *

** This probably sucks. Im sorry.**


End file.
